I was all of 24 years of age in 1996 when I met Edward Lawrence Schoenfeld. He came into my world to shake it up and to help me grow into new and more fulfilling versions of myself, to help make me a global citizen. He was my Bestie, brother, friend, guide, and parent—all in one.
When I met Eddie, I was studying graphic design at School of Visual Arts, New York, and working at Manhattan’s luxury store, Bergdorf Goodman as an assistant buyer. Our mutual friend, Ruth Leserman of Los Angeles, connected us by telling Eddie one day that a gay boy and his lover were sleeping in the guest room where he made home when visiting LA. A few days later I was hosting our annual holiday party in Greenwich Village. It was an evening that dumped snow onto Manhattan, but on our deck a tandoor oven was treating scores of friends and theirs to kebabs, stuffed flatbreads, and other delicacies. On the dessert table were over a dozen versions of fruitcake. Ed and his then wife Carol were smitten and transported to another world without leaving the comforts of Manhattan. Late into the night, as they left, Carol handed me her business card with a prompt to call her the next morning.
That call got me a part-time job as adjunct professor at the Department of Nutrition and Food Studies at NYU. I was still at the university processing what had happened when Carol told me Eddie was waiting to drive me back to my apartment and, on the way, get to know me more and show me the sights of Manhattan.
That drive back home took several hours, when all it took me, walking, was 5-8 lazy minutes. Eddie drove me from Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village to East Village for a quick stop at 2nd Avenue Deli and to share some Jewish delicatessen favourites with me. I still remember, 26 years later, that he had a pastrami sandwich, I had a potato knish, and we both had egg cream sodas. From there we drove into Brooklyn, to Clinton Hill, where he had grown up as an only child. Then he drove me around Bedford Stuyvesant and gave me a tour of those incredible homes rich with Black history. From there we went to Atlantic Avenue and a stop at Sahadi’s market, a Middle Eastern grocery that my first and closest girlfriend, Mary Ann Joulwan, a Lebanese American, had familiarised me with. At Sahadi’s he was tickled that I was doing the teaching and he was learning. Then we went to his house in Park Slope. First foot in, and I felt totally at ease. The warmth of his home was heady and intoxicating in the best way.
We had ice cream, he did his fatherly duties with Adam and answered some calls, and then we were off to take me back home, but first he took me towards Gowanus Canal to see his favourite place to eat Panisse, a typically Provençal specialty made from chickpea flour and shaped like French fries. Ed learned that we made gattas in India that were rather similar, and it gave him deep pleasure to see how food connected people and cultures. But he wasn’t happy that he hadn’t shown me a new trick, and so drove towards Bay Ridge to show me the neighbourhood, which had Italian, Russian and then Arab immigrants enriching the restaurant scene.
I had forgotten I had classes; Ed had ignored chores he needed to get done. Just over an hour or so later, we were in New Jersey at his father’s home. Mr. Schoenfeld was a sprightly gent with a very welcoming aura and charming presence, and I soon understood and appreciated why Eddie was the man he was. Between his mom and dad, he had learned about good food and sharing and caring. After an hour and a half, we began our drive back towards Manhattan but only after him taking me to the Portuguese part of Newark.
An hour after he dropped me off at home, Eddie returned with Carol, and they took Chuck and me to Chinatown for a meal. Eddie discovered that though I cooked and served meat, I never tasted or ate it. Without a blink, he created a thrilling vegetarian feast for me. It was midnight by the time we got home after a stop at Junior’s for cheesecake.
A few years later Chuck and Carol left our lives, yet their love and blessings remained. Through a fairy-tale romance, Elisa became Eddie’s incredibly charming and loving spouse, and Charlie came into my world and brought me tremendous energy, love, and opportunities. It was at Eddie and Elisa’s table that Charlie and I had our first meal at the home of a friend. The next Sunday, Eddie invited Charlie and me for a Jewish breakfast from Russ & Daughters. Bagels, cream cheese, smoked fish, rugelach, eggs, onions and tomatoes, and peerless sums of love and welcome were on the menu. Charlie happily discovered Everything bagels, salt bagels, and garlic bialys. He learned that raisin and blueberry bagels were nothing a self-respecting Jewish person would eat.
Charlie and I moved in together, in Brooklyn, where Elisa and Eddie lived. Eddie and I got together almost every day until Charlie and I moved to the farm in Hebron. That separated us but kept us connected over the phone. Eddie continued to be a constant and most caring presence in my life. Nothing made him happier than to know every little detail of the happenings on the farm. His two sons, Eric and Adam, were his pride, and he would tell me everything that was going on in their lives. Elisa and Eddie would travel together to discover the world and savor deliciousness, and Eddie would call from lands near and far and share those stories. We spoke so often that I teased him that he had turned me into a HinJew who spoke Yiddish with an Indian accent and a lisp.
My unexpected shoulder surgery in Manhattan last year was perhaps meant to be. It gave Eddie and me a chance to spend time together and talk almost daily for six months. Despite him battling end-stage cancer, this impresario of Chinese cooking in Manhattan, one of the greatest legends of the restaurant industry worldwide, made it his mission to check in on me, to ask after my health and my pain. It was this honest and heartfelt concern for the other that made Eddie a hero amongst men.
Edward Lawrence Schoenfeld, my friend Eddie, “the Mensch,” one of New York’s greatest sons, left us too soon. Everything I have done in my life in the world of food has directly and indirectly benefited from my association with Eddie. I owe him a lot and will live with his blessings until my own dying day. But in the meantime, I will make it my business to live in his fashion, with a welcoming smile, an open heart, and as a guide, friend, and champion to all who come my way. Eddie’s legend and generosity are immortal and shall keep him living and breathing in the way that all who knew him, live, love, cook, eat, and share globally.